


These Quiet Shadows

by tinydooms



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: Christmas, Discussion of war, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Veterans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23961160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydooms/pseuds/tinydooms
Summary: It was funny how family came to be. Sometimes a family was a mother and father and their children and extended relations, and sometimes, a family was a librarian and two recovering veterans who had raised the dead and survived. Rick had never had a family, not really. It amazed him how good it felt to have one now. This was home. The War was over, and Imhotep was gone, and he would be married soon, and maybe later Evie would sneak into his bed and hug him close.
Relationships: Evy Carnahan O'Connell/Rick O'Connell
Comments: 25
Kudos: 92





	These Quiet Shadows

**These Quiet Shadows**

_ Cairo, December 1922 _

_ (six weeks after Hamunaptra) _

It was late, long past time to be in bed, but Rick was wide awake. It was funny how a guy could go fight a cursed creature, crash a plane in the desert, lose companions, and thwart a whole garrison of undead mummies and still be okay (or mostly okay), but a car backfiring outside the dining room window was enough to send him straight back to Gallipoli. He supposed it was because the Carnahans’ Cairo house was located in Zamalek, one of the city’s nicest districts and far removed from the teeming treachery of the Cairo Rick had inhabited until October. You could get used to all sorts of bangs and booms living in and around the slums, but he guessed he was going soft, getting used to quiet nights and elegant streets. Anyway, the car had backfired and he had spilled wine all over the table. Lucky he hadn’t jumped under it, really. That might have put even more of a damper on the evening.

And now Rick couldn’t sleep. He sat in the library, stretched out in the armchair that had become one of his favorite spots in the house. The room was decorated for Christmas, a small potted tamarisk doing service as a Christmas tree, it’s spindly branches adrift in painted tin ornaments and silvery stars. It was cozy and soft and soothing in here, surrounded by books and papers and the Carnahans’ family ornaments, Evie’s cat purring on the couch nearby. It faced onto the courtyard, too, which helped. Quiet helped. The Christmas lights they had strung outside helped. Rick sighed. What he really wanted to do was go curl up in bed beside Evie, but they weren’t quite married yet and the housekeeper, Fatima, had given him to understand that if she found Rick in his fiancée’s bed again, terrible things would ensue. It was too bad, really; the nightmares were never as bad when he was in Evie’s arms. Ten days to go. Not that Rick was counting. 

(He was absolutely counting.)

The library door opened. 

“You still awake, old chap?”

“Hey, Jonathan,” Rick said. 

Jonathan came into the room, proper in his dressing gown and slippers. He held, unusually, a steaming mug in each hand. 

“Here,” he said, passing one to Rick. 

Rick took it and sniffed. “Is this hot chocolate?”

“Yes, I felt like being an old lady,” Jonathan replied, settling himself down beside the cat. He gave Rick a friendly grin. “My mum used to make it whenever I had a turn.”

Rick sipped; the drink was thick and spiced with cinnamon. “Is that what you call it?”

“Yes; it’s easier to say than ‘whenever the shell shock hits’ isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Rick toyed with the mug. Sometimes he was absurdly grateful for Jonathan; he never had to explain himself to the man. “Thanks for this.”

“Not at all,” Jonathan said. “How are you now?”

“Sheepish, mostly,” Rick said. “I almost jumped under the table.”

“I’ve done that,” Jonathan said. “Did it at a big dinner party in London, in fact. A waiter dropped a tray just behind me and I went bang under the table. Luckily I wasn’t the only one, but it was damned embarrassing.”

“Well, I’ve never been to a fancy party, but I get you.” Rick drank again. “Your mom knew about cocoa for nerves? I’d have thought she favored something more Egyptian.”

Jonathan went still, looking at him. “Has Evie told you about our mother, then?”

Rick blinked. “Yeah, she told me that first night at Hamunaptra that your mother was Egyptian.”

“And...you’re fine with that?” 

“With what, you two being half Egyptian? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You know damn well why you wouldn’t be,” Jonathan said wryly. “She told you at Hamunaptra?”

Rick nodded, embarrassed. “She showed me her locket after you’d gone to bed. She wasn’t very sober then.”

“I see.” Jonathan looked nonplussed. “Well. I’m glad that’s out before the wedding.”

Rick looked at him for a long moment, and for the first time all evening the screams and crashes of Gallipoli faded into the background. 

“My father was a steel-worker in Chicago,” he said at last. “He and my mother were never married; they lived together until I was three and then he left. My mom had to take care of me on her own; she could never get help because she was a ‘fallen woman’ or some such bullshit. Half the time she had to pass me off as her orphaned nephew so that she could get respectable work. So I know what it’s like to be judged for being what you are. It’s not something we have power over.”

Jonathan met his eyes. “Parents, eh?”

“Yeah.” Rick drank his cocoa. “If we’re lucky they love us enough that what everyone else says doesn’t matter.”

Jonathan chuckled. “You even sound like my mum. She never cared what anyone thought. Evie takes after her in that regard.”

“Then she must have been wonderful,” Rick said. 

Jonathan smiled. “She was. She’d have approved of a Christmas wedding.”

Rick felt his face stretching into a grin. “Good. That’s good.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence. Outside the Christmas lights twinkled between the palms and the fountain burbled. Rick felt himself relaxing. He finished his hot chocolate and set the empty mug on the table. 

“Hey, Jonathan?”

“Mm?”

“Do you put it in a box?” He didn’t say the War, but Jonathan caught his meaning. 

“A locked room, actually. A doctor chap in England told me to put it away and paper over the door.”

“Does it work?”

“Not really,” Jonathan said. “It gets out sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Rick said. “Me, too.”

“There’s always cocoa, I suppose.”

“Or booze,” Rick said. Frankly he was surprised that Jonathan hadn’t come in with a bottle of something. 

“Yes, well.” Jonathan waved his mug. “I’m trying to drink less now that I’m about to be a brother-in-law. So if you wake up in the night to my screaming nightmares, remember that it’s milk, a heaping spoonful of cocoa, half a teaspoon of cinnamon and a bit of nutmeg.”

Rick smiled. “I’ll remember.”

He would, too. It was funny how family came to be. Sometimes a family was a mother and father and their children and extended relations, and sometimes, a family was a librarian and two recovering veterans who had raised the dead and survived. Rick had never had a family, not really. It amazed him how good it felt to have one now. This was home. The War was over, and Imhotep was gone, and he would be married soon, and maybe later Evie would sneak into his bed and hug him close. 

“Jonathan?” he said. “Thank you.”

He didn't need to say for what.

“You’re welcome, old chap.”

Author's Note: this was a prompt for "more Rick and Jonathan friendship, preferably discussing the War" that was sent to me on Tumblr. If you have any fic requests, please feel free to ask! I very much enjoy writing for this fandom. Thanks for reading, and as always, please let me know what you think in the comments!


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